End Transmission
by Advertisement
Summary: A man leaves the safety of home to enter the Zone for the second time in his life, only to realize who-and what-he truly is. A story about one man's descent into a deep, dark rabbit hole from which the only way out is forward.
1. Prologue & Legal Notice

v1.1

End Transmission

Legal Notice-

I do not own, nor do I claim ownership of any part of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. series, including any related official intellectual property or official material, which are the property of their respective owners. The Original content featured in this story does not represent the opinions of, nor the official viewpoint of, any of the respective owners of the S.T.A.L.K.E.R. series, its Rights, associated material, intellectual property, or related technology. S.T.A.L.K.E.R., which this story is based on, is the creation of GSC Game World and its associates. I am not an employee of GSC Game World, and the following content is in no way representative of their work. This is a fan-made fictional story.

Content Notice-

Hi, I'm the author of this story. Some people call me Advertisement. I just wanted to let any of you prospective readers out there know that the following material includes some very dark content. Some people will find it unpleasant. It is, of course, your choice of whether or not you want to read it, but just know that nothing in this story is intended to offend anyone or hurt anyone's feelings. This story is simply supposed to be entertaining. Nothing more, nothing less.

 **Prologue-Laughing Like a Dog**

The killing had been much more brutal and messy than Nomad wanted it to be. Now that it was over, his hands were shaking. His ears were ringing. His head was pounding. He collapsed, falling to the ground on all fours as all of the adrenaline and primal fear that had been building up in his system during the firefight finally broke the emotional wall he had constructed to hold it back.

He had, of course, known that he was walking into a trap, but he was too infuriated; too irrational to do anything but proceed. At this point, he was hardly sure if his actions could be considered sane. Either way, Nomad was a Stalker, not a quitter. He would see this through to the end.

"I know you're here, you cowards!" Nomad cried out, raising his rifle straight up in the air.

It was Scalpel that fired the first shot. The sudden muzzle flash betrayed the Stalker's firing position inside of the wrecked Volga before the thunderous _Crack_ had registered in Nomad's ears. Nomad raised his G3A3 battle rifle and returned fire with a single well placed shot. Scalpel's head jerked to the side as he slapped a hand on his bleeding neck. Even during the tremendous thunderstorm, Nomad could hear Scalpel's last gurgling cry of agony before going limp in the seat of the wrecked car.

A small object hit the ground to Nomad's left, sending him scurrying for cover behind a nearby boulder as pieces of rock and dirt showered his side and a shooting pain presented itself in his left elbow. A piece of grenade shrapnel stuck from the wound. He winced as he pulled the metal from his arm. Popping his head out from the safety of his impromptu cover, he was greeted by a short burst of fire, though this time from in front of the dilapidated shack to the right.

Pavel The Cook and another Stalker named Sokil were advancing on Nomad's position.

"You made a mistake, Nomad!" Pavel shrieked above the sound of the rain.

"You never should have come back!" Sokil yelled.

With Sokil's AKMS rattling in the dark and Pavel preparing to throw another grenade, Nomad knew he had to act quickly. He fired one shot. Pavel the cook yelped and recoiled in pain as the bullet struck his wrist. The grenade he was holding fell to the ground and exploded with a deafening roar.

Nomad waited for a moment to regain his hearing before advancing towards the shack, unintentionally stepping on the disembodied jawbone of Sokil.

Through the cracks between the wooden boards of the shack, the flickering light of a dying fire was visible-a warning to man and mutant alike that the building was occupied. Nevertheless, Nomad was determined to press forward. Behind this door were the answers he had waited so long to receive. It was too late to turn back. Pushing the door in caused it to creak as it slowly opened. Nomad cringed at the unexpected noise before stepping inside. The kick to the back of his knee came without warning. Nomad's leg buckled beneath him and he fell as an arm wrapped around his neck. Then, another pressed against the back of his head.

 _He's choking me to death._

Nomad began to flounder for air. His hands flailed wildly in a feeble attempt to grab something, _anything_ , before finally coming into contact with his sidearm. He pulled the Fort-12 handgun from its holster and pointed it behind him. Before he could fire, the man released his hold on the back of Nomad's head to grab the dangerous pistol. Nomad knew this was the only chance he had to live, as small a chance as it may be.

Nomad pushed out of the broken choke hold and turned towards his target as he fired three rounds from his pistol, but the other stalker's hand deflected the pistol's barrel to the right. The three bullets impacted the wooden wall of the shack with a sharp _snap!_ The other Stalker's grip tightened on the weapon as Nomad forced it back towards the man's chest.

Nomad successfully struggled back to his feet.

He grabbed the man violently by the throat.

And then he pulled the trigger.

The man threw his shoulders back in shock and pain as Nomad slammed the back of the man's head into the wall behind him, causing the man's unbuckled helmet to topple to the floor. In the confusion, Nomad stumbled back from the other Stalker, who was now slumped against the wall. The man was barely prepared to put up a struggle as Nomad picked the helmet up from the floor and raised it above his head.

 _Pang._

 _Pang._

Nomad felt sick as he dropped the helmet and slowly took the Stalker's balaclava off. He stared into the eyes of the man who had caused so much pain; so much death. _Of course it was you. It had to be you._

The killing had been much more brutal and messy than Nomad wanted it to be. Now that it was over, his hands were shaking. His ears were ringing. His head was pounding. As Nomad fell to all fours, covered in blood, it took everything he had not to vomit. Then he started to scream-for as loud, and as long, as he possibly could. When he finally stopped, he was panting. _Look at me_. He thought. _I'm on the ground panting like a fucking dog_. He laughed hysterically for hours at this revelation before falling asleep next to the body of a man he regretted ever calling his friend.


	2. Chapter One-The Zone

V1.0

 **Chapter 1-The Zone**

August Twenty-Fifth, 2012, 11:41 PM

Just days after the evacuation of the Operation: Fairway survivors from Pripyat

The knock on his apartment door wakes Artem from his troubled sleep. With dark circles under his tired eyes, he lumbers to the door and opens it like a drunk man exiting a bar. The two men standing outside his apartment door are unexpected, and their short, military haircuts do nothing but put Artem on edge. A sense of dread washes over him.

The man on the left is in his early thirties. He's dressed in a western-made leather jacket and work pants, though Artem can make out the distinct bulge of a small pistol in his pocket, and a pair of black gloves are tied on a string together to his belt. His hands are clasped together in front of him and he is standing just a little too far away for Artem to grab the gun from the man, in case something undesirable were to happen.

The man on the right stands just off to the side of the door and looks Artem right in the eyes with a stare that would paralyze a guilty child. He has the eyes of an experienced killer and the clenched jaw and tight fists of a man who is prepared to do it again in an instant. Artem spots a tattoo of a scorpion with open claws on the man's neck-a common Spetsnaz tattoo. The open claws indicate combat experience.

"Are you Artem Belenko?" The taller man on the left questions.

"Who wants to know?" Artem asks in response as he raises an eyebrow.

"We're officials from the government. May we come in?"

"That depends. Do you have identification?"

The man on the left removes a laminated card from his pocket and hands it to Artem, who compares every facial feature of the man in the photograph to the man in front of him, going so far as to hold the card up to the light to ensure its legitimacy. "Agent Dmitri Budny, Foreign Intelligence Service…" Artem reads aloud. Satisfied, he hands the card back. "And your card?" Artem demands from the man on the right. The man refuses to break his cold stare.

"Fine. Come on in."

Artem's apartment is unusually clean. In fact, he has very little in the way of furniture or personal items. His Parquet flooring is entirely bland, and his old soviet wallpaper unremarkable save for how clean and well-maintained it is. The two unwelcome visitors sit on the cream-colored couch as the reluctant host reclines on the chair across from them. "Would either of you like a drink?" Artem asks, placing three glasses and a bottle of Vodka on the table in front of him. A long, awkward silence permeates the air.

"So…what are two agents of the SZRU doing in my home?"

"I want to offer you a job." Agent Budny presents his words as if he were offering a Christmas present.

"Not interested." Artem replies as he opens the brand-new bottle and pours himself a drink.

"If it's about money, the pay's very-"

Artem interrupts the agent. "It has nothing to do with money. Not interested." Artem knocks back the contents of his glass and pours himself another. The overstressed Agent Budny rubs his temples with his index fingers before letting his hands fall back to his lap, releasing a sigh of exasperation. He locks eyes with Artem.

"Look, Artem, I'm going to be honest and upfront with you. We need your help. It's The Zone-it's becoming more erratic. There are rumors of artifacts nobody has seen before, unconfirmed reports of mutants nobody has ever seen, and the emissions are getting stronger. We have received reports that suggest that The Zone is, well, spiraling out of control."

Artem returns his gaze. "That seems pretty normal for The Zone to me, Agent."

"There's one other thing," Agent Budny adds enticingly, "You know Major Degtyarev of the Internal Security Service very well I am told, is this correct?"

The color washes from Artem's face. _I know where this is going_. "Yes, why?"

"He's been recently appointed by the SBU as the new permanent observer in The Zone. He stopped reporting in a few days ago after we asked him to start investigating these disturbances."

Artem sighs as the hairs on his neck stand back up. "You want me to find him?"

"Not necessarily. I want you to figure out why the hell the zone is becoming more unstable. I want you to start with the same leads we gave Major Degtyarev. If you follow the same path, it will lead you to both your friend and the answers my superiors need. We both get something we want."

Artem looks at the agent intently. "When do I leave?"

"Now."

Artem downs his drink.

Before the trio of men proceed downstairs and into the street, where an unmarked government car equipped with bulletproof windows and run-flat tires is waiting for them with its engine running, Artem takes one last look around his apartment. His simple home. _There are Stalkers on the wrong side of the cordon and their families living on the other wrong side that would give anything for this small one-room flat._

Yet for Artem, leaving was shockingly easy. In fact, he was confident in his decision to go. After all, he felt no love for anything outside the zone. All of his old attachments-His sense of pride in a gang that almost landed him in prison, His sense of commitment to a long-gone wife, and even his sense of duty to a corrupt military command he no longer served, had done nothing but hurt him over the years. _And for what?_

For him, The Zone was the _real world._ Everything outside it was a façade: a complex mockery of civilization held up by a crumbling foundation of falsehoods. The Zone was Artem's life. His obsession. An addiction he had chosen to abstain from. He loved and embraced every moment he spent in The Zone, but the more time he spent there, the more he changed, and it was the changes that terrified him, not mutants or anomalies.

The government car speeds off into the night, leaving nothing behind to suggest it had ever existed at all.

…

Agent Budny and his silent companion once again sit opposite to Artem in the conference room of the unmarked office building on the outskirts of Kiev. The building is the property of the SZRU, though few people know this is the case. Officially, the building belongs to a computer company.

"So, what's the plan?" Artem anxiously probes.

Agent Budny takes a long breath. "You will be inserted into the zone with a new contingent of soldiers headed to the cordon to replace casualties. From there, we will give you your next mission directives." Agent Budny removes an object from his pocket and extends his hand to Artem, who takes the object cautiously. "This is a secure satellite communication device made specifically for operations in the zone. It's programmed to contact your handler over a secure frequency." Artem frowns at the device, which is small enough to use with one hand but looks more like an old telephone than a state-of-the-art gadget.

Artem clears his throat. "My handler?"

Agent Budny points to his silent comrade. "Agent Libinsky here will be your handler. It will be his job to provide you with information and mission details. You will report to him at least once daily."

Artem raises an eyebrow. "Well, it'll be sort of difficult to communicate with someone who never speaks, won't it?"

The shorter, tattooed man surprises Artem with a few soft-spoken words. "A fool rambles on forever, but the intelligent man only speaks when it matters."

Artem nods his head with respect for Agent Libinsky before turning back towards the taller and finicky Agent Budny. "Okay, Agent, what about my gear?"

Budny nods. "The local commander at the Cordon has some equipment for you."

"And what about mission support?"

"You won't have any. Obviously, this whole mission is classified. That means no-"

"I know, I know. This conversation never happened. I was never in this office."

Agent Budny adjusts in his seat. To Artem, it is clear the man is uncomfortable being in the same room as a former Stalker. Especially a successful one.

…

Artem closes his eyes as the cold water splashes over his face. He turns the sink off and wipes his face dry with tissue paper before looking up in the mirror. The man that stares back at him-with his pale skin, his dark, sunken eyes, and his short brown hair is nearly unrecognizable. The only thing about his face that feels _real_ is the small scar under his left eye, the relic of an altercation with bandits during his previous stay in the zone.

"You should try and get some sleep on the way."

Artem jumps as he realizes Agent Libinsky has been standing next to him.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that." Artem grumbles.

"You shouldn't let your guard down long enough for me to get that close." Libinsky retorts.

Artem chuckles. "You know, I didn't exactly take you for the friendly sort, Libinsky."

"Unlike some of my fellow agents, I still give a shit about other people. Besides, if you die on this little mission of yours, my paycheck gets cut." Libinsky quips.

The two share an uneasy moment of laughter, but an awkward silence follows.

"Seriously, Artem…" Libinsky says as he walks away. "…It isn't too late to back out."

…

The ride to the Cordon was uncomfortable, especially in the back of the old Ural, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with rookie soldiers. Every single one shot sideways glances at Artem-the only unarmed passenger in civilian clothing-but only when they didn't think he was paying attention. They were just children-ready to shoot anything that moves, but not ready to think about the consequences of doing so. Artem remembered the shudder down his spine as he realized this is what he must have been like when he was first sent to the zone by the military. He was hardly out of training.

The commander's uncomfortable disregard for Artem's personal space brought him back to the present. "Hello? Did you hear what I said? What the hell is a civilian doing here?!" The officer spits. Artem recoils in disgust. "Do you really think they'd let some tourist just jump in the back of a truck with a bunch of grunts on their way to the military cordon?" Artem responds with a token attempt to hide his aggravation. The commander scoffs.

"Well if you aren't some civilian, then who are you?"

"I'm the specialist they told you about. They said you had my gear."

"I never heard anything about any specialist, and I definitely don't have your… _gear_. Now get the hell out of my sight and don't even think about crossing the border here into The Zone or I'll shoot you myself."

 _What?_

"Hold on, let me make a call." Artem negotiates.

"Make your call somewhere over there." The commander mocks, pointing away from The Zone and towards the road. Artem shakes his head before walking off into a lightly wooded area to the right side of the road, out of earshot. Making sure no soldiers are watching, he removes the small, grey radio given to him by Budny from his pocket and dials the number for his handler, Agent Libinsky.

…

"Artem to Libinsky, come in, over." Artem Whispers into the device.

"This is Libinsky. I read you loud and clear." Libinsky responds.

"I have a problem. The local commander won't let me past the barricade at the Cordon."

Artem can hear a long sigh followed by an even longer moment of silence.

"What about your equipment? Does he have it?" Libinsky asks worriedly.

"Of course not. That would be too easy." Artem replies.

"Okay. Hold on." Libinsky Requests.

After a long moment of silence, the voice on the other end returns.

"Okay, Artem? Are you still there? I'm at Budny's desk. The notice of your arrival is still here. He never sent it to the Cordon." Libinsky reports.

"What! Why?"

"I don't know, but Budny doesn't just 'forget' things like this. I'll figure this out, but for now you need to worry about getting inside the Zone Perimeter. I don't care what you do, but you will NOT harm any soldiers at that outpost, are we clear?" Libinsky waits for Artem's reply.

"We're clear."

"Good. Be careful. Call me again once you're inside."

Artem switches the device off and looks back towards the outpost teeming with soldiers carrying Kalashnikov rifles and wearing ceramic body armor. _They shoot Stalkers on sight here._ He rolls his eyes and clenches his jaw.

"They better be able to get me out when I'm done…"


	3. Chapter Two-Cold Trail

V1.0

 **Chapter 2-Cold Trail**

August Twenty-Sixth, 2012, 9:47 PM

The first time in two years Artem Belenko returns to The Zone

Traversing the uneven woods across the road from the military checkpoint had once been one of the primary means of entering and exiting The Zone for Stalkers, though recently the military had begun to enforce a widespread crack-down on those who attempted to do so. It was too little, too late to stop or even effectively slow the majority of illicit trade The Zone had brought to this country, though at this moment, it certainly meant Artem's life was in grave danger as he began his journey.

Waiting until dark, Artem crawls with his head as low to the ground as possible. The wandering eyes of a powerful searchlight float back and forth through the darkness. There is no sound but the muffled rustling of leaves kicked up by Artem as he inches forward. That is, until a blaring alarm stops Artem in his tracks. _Attention! Stalker spotted in the woods! Open fire! Open Fire!_ The intercom is interrupted by the hellish cadence of a PKM machinegun firing from its position in the watchtower to Artem's right side. The searchlight's gaze suddenly shifts away from Artem to fixate on a man sprinting for the safety of a concrete tunnel uphill. Only then does Artem realize the soldiers are not firing at him.

The man crumbles under the steady fire of the machinegun, and for many long seconds after the man is clearly dead, the machinegun keeps firing before the cease-fire order is barked over the intercom. Artem, trembling, crawls his way over to the dead Stalker. He had been mere steps away from the shelter of the concrete tunnel, though to Artem's knowledge, there was nothing beyond but a dismal swamp devoid of any life.

Artem shakes his head in dismay as he pulls off the man's old soviet SP-5 gas mask, only to find a large, bloody hole where the left eye socket would have been. He feels around for anything he can take before his hand brushes against the unmistakable grip of a Makarov pistol. Artem does not need to check if the weapon is loaded-its familiar weight tells him that it is. He pockets the weapon as his other hand finds a folding knife of the kind used to skin animals.

He waits no longer before continuing. Crawling inch by inch, he finally reaches the edge of the woods. Standing up, he looks back at the military's small outpost on the edge of two entirely different worlds.

He pauses for a moment, considering whether the men at the outpost kill because they have been ordered to, or if they take the initiative to kill for sport. Artem guessed it was a little of both.

Ahead, he can see the feint light of a campfire. The sound of somebody laughing brings him at ease as he approaches a group of buildings. Artem knows he will be taken care of here, for a price.

The dilapidated cluster of buildings before him sits just inside the Military's cordon. Referred to as the "Rookie Village", it is a gathering place for young and inexperienced Stalkers. It is also the home of Sidorovich, a widely respected and well-known trader. Most importantly, this small collection of structures was the home away from home of one of Artem's oldest friends, a fellow Stalker named Wolf.

…

"Hey, you! Over here!" A group of three young Stalkers motion for Artem to join them as they sit around a small campfire. Artem casually joins them near the fire, sitting against the ancient boards of a ruined picket fence.

"Where the hell is your mask? What about your weapon? Don't you know how dangerous this place is?" The inexperienced Stalker in the middle lectures.

Artem nods. "It's a long story. Do you know where Wolf is?"

"I'm right here."

Artem turns around to see Wolf standing behind him. "Wolf! It's been a while hasn't it?"

Wolf squints at Artem. "Artem, is that you? My god, I thought you were done with the zone!"

"I was, but there's something important I need to do. Listen, I have a big favor to ask of you. I need equipment." Artem asks intently.

"Of course you do. What were you thinking coming here in nothing but a green shirt and some dirty pants?" Wolf beckons for Artem to follow him.

…

"-and of course, I'll pay for everything." Wolf finishes, leaning on the counter inside the dusty bunker owned by Sidorovich the trader. The trader nods before reaching downwards and pulling up an old SAFN Rifle equipped with a compact 4x20 rifle scope, a box of .30-06 ammunition for the rifle, a well-worn IP-4M rebreather, and finally an old suit of Kevlar armor. Artem can spot a trickle of blood on the armor's side, where the outer layer appears to have been stitched back together. Artem grabs the equipment as Wolf hands the man behind the counter a thick wad of Roubles. Artem feels like a terrible friend as he realizes the money Wolf is handing to Sidorovich was probably to be used for Wolf's own ticket home.

"I owe you one for this, Wolf."

"Yes, you do."

…

The morning light had just begun to shine upon Artem's position across the disused road from the Rookie village. Usually, a pack of wild dogs would be roaming around on the nearby hillside, or a small family of mutant pigs referred to as 'Fleshes' by Stalkers would be chasing each other around in circles. Commonly a novice from the nearby Rookie Village would try his luck hunting the Fleshes around this area, as the eye of one of those deformed creatures would sell for a few hundred Roubles to interested researchers, and their hides were popular as trophies. Today, however, it was eerily quiet. Artem knew better than to think that meant he was safe, but at least he now had the means to defend himself. He pulled the radio out of his pocket as he adjusted the sling of his new rifle.

"Libinsky, this is Artem."

"Libinsky here. Are you inside the perimeter?"

"Yes, I'm inside, no thanks to the military. I watched them gun a man down."

"Focus on your mission. You're here to find the source of increased disturbance in The Zone." Libinsky advises.

"No, I'm here to find my friend, Major Alexander Degtyarev." Artem replies in disagreement.

"Yes, and following your friend's trail will lead you to the truth behind the disturbances." Libinsky corrects.

Artem pauses for a moment. "Okay, so where does the trail start?"

The sound of shuffling papers is followed by Libinsky's voice. "According to our intel, he went to go talk to a man named Novikov. He works in an air-mobile scientific bunker with a group of ecologists. Currently, the bunker is situated in an area known as 'Dark Valley'."

Artem raises an eyebrow. "Dark Valley? What are they doing there?"

"I don't know, go ask them yourself."

"And the Major went to talk to this guy Novikov about what, exactly?" Artem presses further.

"Something about his past dealings with a faction the Major called 'Clear Sky'. Have you ever heard of them?" Libinsky questions.

"Clear sky? I've heard the name-"

Artem is interrupted by a rapid succession of gunfire from the Rookie Village.

"Libinsky, I've got to go."

…

As more gunfire erupts from the village, Artem glimpses movement on the other side of the buildings from his perch on the hilltop. Suddenly a pack of nearly a dozen white dogs pours into the village from the Eastern side. Artem's quizzical look quickly transforms into a look of terror as one rookie Stalker fails to outrun the ravenous pack. They pull him to the ground before Artem's view of the squirming man is obstructed by the mass of rabid dogs piled on top of him. Artem looks to the left to see Wolf emerging from one of the buildings, firing at a grouping of dogs with his AKS-74U carbine. He doesn't notice the dog running him down from behind.

Artem fires, sending a .30-06 round straight into the muzzle of the angry, white dog, which rolls forward onto its stomach and lays still. Wolf spins around just in time to see the dog fall before looking up at Artem's firing position, giving him a quick nod before returning to his work. Artem spots two Rookies bravely holding off the dogs as another Stalker wearing a black shirt tends to his injured comrade. Artem exhales slowly then places another shot behind the ear of another dog. The dog goes down immediately as Artem fires yet another round into the back of an injured dog limping towards a Stalker using his shotgun like a club.

A feral bark echoes from behind Artem. He rolls onto his back just as the teeth of an airborne dog are nearly close enough to touch his neck. He fires. The dog slams into him with enough force to knock the rifle out of his hands, but at least it doesn't move after landing. Artem hears a skittering noise to his left and turns to see another dog rushing at him. Pulling the Makarov pistol from his left pocket, he pulls the trigger.

The weapon refuses to fire.

Panic suddenly overcomes Artem as the dog clasps its powerful jaws onto his shoulder, sending a wave of intense pain throughout his body. Artem tries to pull away, but this only tears the skin further, causing a thick river of red blood to flow down his armpit. He pulls the folding knife from his belt with his other arm and stabs it into the eye of the dog. It whines as Artem forces the knife in further before letting go and scampering off, the knife still lodged inside of its head.

Artem braces his arms on the ground in an attempt to get up but his left arm buckles from the pain. He begins to see black on the edge of his vision as a ringing noise grows louder in his ears. He can only smell blood.

Suddenly, something is jabbed into his thigh.

"Relax, it's an inoculation for rabies. I'm a doctor."

He looks up to see a Stalker kneeling above him wearing a black shirt and olive green military fatigue pants under a heavy suit of armor. He is wearing a Czech-made CM-4M gas mask and is holding a syringe. Behind him, Wolf worriedly stands, shifting from side to side on his feet. "My name is Sokil." The man says to Artem. "What's yours?"

Wolf grabs the man on the shoulder. "Don't you know?" Wolf says to Sokil. "This is Artem the Nomad, one of the first Stalkers."

Sokil whistles. "One of the first, huh? You must have a lot of good stories to tell."

Artem grunts as Sokil bandages his wound. "Well, I don't have any stories you'd be interested in, nor do I have much to pay you with for your help."

Sokil chuckles. "Oh, you don't need to pay me. I'm a socialist. Free healthcare for everybody!"

Artem forces a half-smile. "I appreciate it."

"No, I appreciate you coming back to help, Artem." Wolf interjects. "Let's face it, with just me, Sokil, and _this_ bunch of posers..." Wolf jerks his thumb back towards the village. "…We would've been goners."

"Nonsense." Is all Artem manages to say before blacking out.

…

"Are you sure you're ready to leave, Artem?" Wolf asks.

"Yes, I came back here for a reason. I need to keep moving." Artem sighs.

"Where are you going?" Sokil asks.

"Dark Valley."

"Why?" Sokil further questions.

"Why do you need to know? I have some business I need to attend to."

Sokil takes a deep breath. "Okay, then let me come with you."

Artem shakes his head. "No, sorry, but my business is private and I don't need a caretaker. I'm a grown man."

Sokil simply shrugs. "Suit yourself, just be careful with that shoulder. Remember to clean it and change the bandages."

…

The area known as the Dark Valley could only be accessed one of two ways. The first-and more widely traveled path-is through a section of dangerous land called 'The Garbage', an area where piles of industrial scrap, trash, and building materials lay side-by-side with decommissioned vehicles. It is full of bandits and mutants, and is not a route Artem is used to taking, as during his first visit to The Zone, it was the 'no man's land' between two warring factions of Stalkers.

The second route is through a long underpass near the Cordon, which opens up to a little-used dirt road that snakes between two steep hills. This path would take him straight towards the Dark Valley without exposing Artem to the dangers of dubious bandits and radioactive heaps of rusty scrap. The path wasn't used widely only because of an old myth involving ghosts in the railroad tunnel that cut through the hills. The ghosts were said to take lone stalkers back into the tunnel, never to be seen again. Artem wasn't scared of these superstitious stories, as he had travelled this road many times before.

It wasn't that Artem didn't believe in ghosts. He knew they were real, they just didn't live in the tunnels along this particular stretch of road.

…

Upon entering the Dark Valley, he was greeted with a light shower of misty rain as a thick fog rolled in under grey clouds that quickly worked to cover the blooming morning sun. A corona of light struggled through the clouds; the final ray of hope in an otherwise gloomy landscape. Just in front of Nomad was an immense ruined industrial site that had once been the fortress of a faction known as Freedom, but was now a cesspit full of bandits and other marauders who had banded together under the rule of an iron-fisted madman. It was not somewhere Artem the Nomad intended to visit, and he was glad for the thick fog which concealed his position from any attentive watchmen along the structure's roof. To the southeast was a gathering of swampy ponds and _somewhere_ was the heavily fortified scientific bunker where the Ukrainian government's scientific research of the zone was underway.

 _What the hell were these crazy ecologists doing out here in Dark Valley?_

Wandering for what seems like an hour, he finally comes to the crest of a hill to see the form of the flat-topped bunker below him through the dense fog. _Something is wrong._ The bunker's door, comprised of two-and-a-half inches of reinforced, lead-lined steel, had been torn completely off of its hinges and lay in the grass. The presence of large black marks around the door frame suggest to Artem that a very powerful explosive had been used to remove it. Artem draws his rifle and steps down the hill towards the building as his breathing becomes heavier and heavier.

His heart pounding, he steps inside what was supposed to be a decontamination chamber, but is instead an open hallway. The secondary door has also been removed from its hinges, blown against the inner wall of the structure. Beneath it, the dead body of a scientist is visible, clutching a Fort-12 handgun in his hand. A broken and twisted pair of round glasses lay on the floor to his right. Artem reaches down and pries the handgun from the dead man, examining it for damage. _I hope this one actually works._

Nomad rounds the corner to his right to see a grizzly sight. A scientist hangs on a synthetic rope from the ceiling in between two small, now-bloody bunk beds. As Artem approaches, he can see the man's eyes, teeth, and tongue have been removed. _God, who would do this?_ The man's body still swings ever-so-slightly.

 _Back and forth. Back and forth._

 _This happened just before I got here._

Nomad shakes the image from his mind as he turns to the left. A small research laboratory is in disarray, with beakers, hot plates, test tubes, dozens of documents, and various other scientific instruments strewn about the floor. A still body lays flat on his back near Artem's right side, motionless, while another body covered in blood sits on a small stool placed in the center of the room, with a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. In his mouth are two eyes, a tongue, and countless teeth. _Damn it._

As Artem turns around, the body on the floor begins to move.

"Help…"

 _He's still alive._

Artem kneels down next to the man. "What happened here?"

"They came for the measurements." The delirious man coughs.

Artem looks around. "What measurements?"

"The Zone. It's getting…less stable. The measurements. We took measurements…" The man struggles to speak.

Artem thinks he hears movement from outside the bunker. He speaks in a hushed tone. "Listen, I need to find a man named Major Degtyarev. He came here to speak with a man named Novikov."

The dying man nods. "I remember. I am Novikov…"

"I need to know what you told him about something called Clear Sky." Artem demands hurriedly.

"Clear Sky wanted to stop The Zone from spreading. We made a mistake. Find Topol. They took the measurements. Topol knows where they are."

Artem looks at the man's chest to see many grotesque and putrid puncture wounds. "Who attacked you? The bandits?"

"No. Not bandits." The man chokes.

Artem is suddenly overcome with the intense feeling of being watched. "If it wasn't bandits, then who was it?"

"Final Day"

Novikov loses consciousness. Artem knows waking him back up would only serve to bring him more pain before he inevitably passes away.

…

Artem sits on the hill above the bunker while observing the surrounding landscape. He clenches the radio tightly in his hand.

"Artem to Libinsky, come in, over."

"Oh, thank God! Artem, I thought you were dead…I heard gunfire, then you hung up so suddenly…" Libinsky responds, exasperated.

"What, are you worried about that pay cut?" Artem jests, but it is obvious by his voice that he is shaken.

"Artem, what's wrong?"

Artem pauses. "Novikov is dead. The bunker was attacked by an unknown force. They used a specially constructed shaped charge to get inside and massacred everyone. They mutilated some of the bodies."

"No survivors?" Libinsky inquires.

"None." Artem responds.

"I'll have to report this. The military will have to destroy the bunker before that research gets into the wrong hands. Do you have any new leads?"

"Novikov claimed they took some sort of measurements about The Zone before they were attacked." Artem explains. "According to him, it was what the attackers were after. He mentioned a man named Topol who apparently knows where these supposed measurements are now."

Libinsky thinks before speaking. "Okay, so our best bet is for you to find this Topol character. I'll see what I can dig up from our database. If he has a criminal record, military background, or any notable reputation among the scientists we should have something on him. I'll keep you updated if I find anything on my end, and you ask around the usual Stalker hangouts."

"Agreed. Let me know if you find something." Artem adds before hanging up. Looking up, the corona of light that had permeated the clouds only a moment before was now gone. Artem turned around and started walking.

…


	4. Chapter Three-The Best Medicine

V1.01

 **Chapter 3-The Best Medicine**

September First, 2012, 4:03 PM

One day before the largest emission in history

"Artem, come in. This is Libinsky."

"Artem here. Any updates?"

"Yes, I found some classified files on Topol. Turns out he's the leader of a team working for the scientists. It's called Research Team Iskra. We have his full schedule and a list of his contingency plans, and we've talked to some local informants. He's in some place called Rostok right now, and he will be for the next few hours."

"Good. I'm close by. I'll update you when I recover Degtyarev."

…..

Artem looks up at the makeshift signpost above his head, sending a flood of memories into the foreground of his mind. The bar that stands before him is called the 100 Rads, and is one of the most popular areas for Stalkers to have a drink and steal a well-deserved moment of relaxation within the hellish landscape of The Zone, though that isn't why Artem is here.

Not today, at least.

The bar itself sits within the protected barrier-camp of Rostok, a major staging area for the faction known as Duty. Rostok shares a border with what most Stalkers refer to as 'The Wild Territory' or 'Old Rostok', the nearby industrial area overrun by mutants and filled with deadly anomalies.

Artem walks down the wooden stairs to the bar in no particular hurry. The bartender's eyes widen as Artem walks in. "Artem The Nomad!" It's been ages since I've seen you. I thought you'd gone home!" Artem walks over to the counter. "I won't be back for long. I'm looking for a Stalker named Topol".

The bartender nods in the direction of a table fully occupied by a seemingly tight-knit group of four well-equipped Stalkers.

"Are you Topol?" Artem asks the Stalker in the exoskeleton sitting at the end of the table. The man doesn't even look up. Tension unexpectedly builds in the room as the bartender stops attending to his other customers to observe the table intently.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not." Topol seethes through his gas mask.

Artem puts a hand on the table. "My name is Artem. I need to speak with you…" He looks up at the three other Stalkers at the table, all of whom have their hands hovering above their holsters. "…In private, if that's okay."

Topol slowly turns his head to face Artem. "Anything you can say to me, you can say right here in front of the rest of my team."

Artem leans back slightly. "Let's all ease up a little. I'm not here for trouble. I know what happened to the scientists. A…friend…told me I could find you here. I'm trying to-"

Artem is cut off by the Stalker in the radiation suit sitting across from Topol. "You work for the Government, don't you?"

"How do you know that?"

The masked man across from Topol speaks up again.

"A bunch of government scientists get killed. It makes sense that the government would send someone to find out who did it. Who better to blame than the group of Stalkers that had access to the inside of the bunker? Of course the government would send someone after us. So how's it going to go, government man? Are you going to try and take us away now, or shoot us?"

Artem suddenly feels exposed as the rest of the bar looks up at him. _Government Man._ Working for the government inside of The Zone was not something one announced publicly. Many men had been hung or shot to death for collaborating with the military or the government.

"Yes, I work for the government, but no, I'm not after you. I know you didn't do it. The door on the bunker was blown off. Why would you do that if you could just walk inside freely?" Artem explains.

The man removes his hand from the trigger of his sidearm. His friends see him do this and share his relief, placing their hands back on the table, save for Topol, who taps his finger in anticipation over the trigger of his G3A3 rifle.

"Okay." The man continues. "My name's Mace. This guy next to me is Snake, and the guy in the corner is Spirit. You already know who Topol is, apparently." Artem pulls up an old stool from a nearby empty table.

"I'm Artem. Most people know me as Artem the Nomad. I'm here because Novikov told me I needed to find something he called 'The Measurements.' Do you know anything about them?" Artem continues.

Topol speaks up. "Of course we know about the measurements. We were the ones that planted the devices that took the measurements. We placed these things all around the zone in different anomaly fields-first in the Northwestern part of the zone around an old factory, then in Yantar, and finally in the Dark Valley. The devices were supposed to measure anomalous activity, things like psi-emissions, thermal energy, and acidity. We figured out that the anomalies were growing much larger and becoming less stable. Not only that, but the detectors themselves made things much worse."

Artem interjects. "So that's what you guys were doing in Dark Valley…"

Topol nods. "Yes, but here's the thing: The whole time we had these mercenaries guarding the bunker. Real mean guys. They kept sticking their noses into our business. One day, after my team and this guy named Degtyarev…"

Artem interrupts. "Wait, Degtyarev? Do you know where he is?"

Topol waves Artem away.

"I'm getting to that. So Degtyarev comes and helps us out. He gets to know the scientists, especially Novikov, and they ask him to help us with our work. Meanwhile, these mercenaries that are supposed to be protecting the bunker are getting edgy seeing him around. One day, Degtyarev shows up at the bunker while we're in Dark Valley to talk to Novikov. My team and I leave to check out some bandits that are getting a little close to the bunker. When we get back, everyone is dead, and the mercs are dragging Degtyarev by his legs out of the bunker. We saw them from the top of the hill."

Artem shakes his head. "…And you didn't try to help him?"

Topol takes off his gas mask to reveal his face. He is roughly twenty-five years old, with blonde hair and green eyes. "Besides the mercs that were supposed to protect us, there were a dozen more. The four of us wouldn't have been able to take them, so instead, we tracked them. We lost them in Yantar."

Artem slams his hand on the table. "Damn it! Whoever these guys are, they took my friend. I need to know where they are, and I was told you were the one that could help."

Topol cuts Artem off. "Okay, you said you're a friend of Degtyarev. Well so am I, and all of us owe him big time. He saved my ass-all of our asses-from getting mind-fucked by a controller, then he held off a horde of mutants while we set these devices up. We'll help you."

..….

The group of five Stalkers, led by Artem the Nomad, walk beyond the inherent safety of the sandbags and barbed wire barricades manned by Duty guards and cautiously enter the Wild Territory ahead of them. The ominous howl of a starving dog originating from somewhere beyond a nearby fence warns the party of coming danger as they approach an overhead footbridge. The smell of rotting flesh hits them like an invisible barricade. "Aww man, I can smell that through my mask." Complains Spirit, prompting a chuckle from Mace as he once again checks the barrel of his SPAS-12 for dirt. They pass by the half-eaten remnants of two men in trench coats.

"Bandits." Artem states. "The bodies are recent."

"There's definitely mutants around. Look at those bite marks." Snake postulates.

Something catches Artem's eye. A slight shimmering in the air. A distortion, like heat waves off of asphalt on a hot summer day. "Watch out. There's an anomaly right there." Mace picks a rock up from the pavement and chucks it into the disturbance. A circular gust of wind, like a tornado, violently grows in strength as the rock is held in mid-air. The rock cracks under the immense pressure of the anomaly, collapses into itself, then violently explodes outward as the air becomes abruptly still, sending fragments of shattered rock in all directions.

"Great, a Vortex." Topol sarcastically states.

"There's more of them." Snake points out nearly two dozen more shimmering vortexes hiding in the path ahead.

"These weren't here a few days ago when we came through tracking those mercs." Mace points out.

Artem squints his eyes. "Let's not stick around." He says, motioning forwards. "I don't want one to just 'appear' on top of me."

"I told you the zone was getting less stable." Topol groans.

"I wouldn't mind going around." Spirit adds.

The group walks past the wreckage of an old bus to find themselves in an empty clearing between a large, burned-out industrial building to the left and a railway station to the right. A watchtower sits abandoned next to the train yard, presiding silently over rusty boxcars and columns of long-disused shipping containers overgrown with tall weeds and unkempt grass. Topol motions to Spirit, tossing him a pair of binoculars. Spirit nods in understanding as he climbs up the watchtower to get a better view of their surroundings.

Topol and Mace walk carefully towards an open storage hangar to their left as Artem and Snake stand near the watchtower. Snake leans up against a ruined, rusty boxcar as Artem the Nomad watches Mace and Topol scan the path through the hangar with their Geiger counters.

The duo return with the unmistakable look of defeat on their faces. "The whole area that way is irradiated." Topol gripes. "The Nomad and I won't make it without closed-circulation suits. We'll have to go around." Artem cups his hands around his mouth. "Hey, Spirit, can you see a way around?" Spirit gives a thumbs-up and draws a path through the rail yard with his finger.

"Oh, shit! look! The rust from the train car is all over my suit!" Snake suddenly shouts worriedly.

Mace shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe you shouldn't lean up against a rusty train car, then."

Snake tries shaking the rust off. "No, you don't understand, it's spreading!"

"It's _what_?" Artem tries to get a closer look at the mysterious rust. He watches the rust climb rapidly up the steel mesh of Snake's shoulder pad as it hisses and pops.

Topol tries to calm him down. "It's okay. Your SEVA suit is closed. Don't take your helmet off or it'll get inside."

"It's already inside! Shit! It burns! It's burning through my skin!"

Artem the Nomad rushes to help the panicking Stalker as he falls forward onto his stomach, screaming bloody murder. A black smoke begins to rise from Snake's back as Mace tries in vein to cut the suit off of his friend with a well-used Finnish Puukko knife. A feint sizzling sound and the smell of smoldering flesh work in tandem to overwhelm Artem's senses as he pours water from his recently purchased canteen onto the rust in an attempt to stop the burning, resulting in nothing but wasted water. Spirit looks down from the watchtower above as Snake writhes in pain. Mace frantically throws his knife to the ground as the living rust consumes his blade.

Mace finally takes two steps backwards and falls to his knees as the Stalkers realize the futility of their actions. It is far too late to save their friend. A gunshot rings out from just behind Artem's left ear, leaving him momentarily stunned as the ringing noise subsides. Snake's burning body is sprawled out in front of him, now burnt to a crisp, covered in an orange rust and billowing black smoke. A single, clean hole through the rear padding of Snake's curtain helmet and the stunned look worn by Mace tells Artem everything he needs to know. Topol flicks the safety of his G3A3 battle rifle back on.

"I didn't want him to suffer." He solemnly states before removing his mask and helmet, sitting on the ground. He buries his face in his palms and begins to cry.

As Spirit hurriedly climbs down from the watchtower, Mace and Artem the Nomad silently help Topol back to his feet. The remaining Stalkers follow Spirit as he leads them around the building and through the rail yard, their heads synchronously bowing down and their weapons at the ready in their shaking hands.

…..

"What the hell was that stuff?" Mace asks angrily, kicking a small stone down the railroad tracks as he steps forwards.

"I don't know." Topol responds coldly as he turns the flashlight attached to his vest on.

"I thought I'd seen everything The Zone has to offer, but I've never seen whatever that was. From now on, don't touch anything around here." Artem the Nomad orders, rubbing his temples to ease a punishing headache as he looks up at the darkening sky.

"Agreed. Especially since whatever it was got through a SEVA suit." Spirit sighs.

Spirit cuts in. "It didn't just burn through it. Did you see how it was spreading? It was like the metal-"

"Shut up." Topol interrupts. Artem can sense his distant, unfocused stare even through the reflective lenses of his goggles. He wonders how his companions are holding up. _First, their employers at the bunker were massacred, and now one of their closest friends is dead._

An unwarranted chill reverberates up Artem's spine, pulling him away from his sorrowful thoughts with the sudden feeling of being watched. Just as Artem is about to vocalize his concerns, the sound of a far-away, unrecognizable voice carried over the wind catches the attention of the grieving Stalkers. Mace freezes in his tracks. "Did you guys see that?" He asks.

"I didn't see anything, but I sure heard something." Spirit declares.

Artem the Nomad takes notice of an unused building on the edge of his field of vision. He could swear that there was a shadow of a person on the roof just a second ago.

"I just saw something too." He shares.

Mace catches up with Artem the Nomad. "What do you think it was?"

"Something dangerous." He asserts as they round the corner through the container yard.

Four high-powered flashlights switch on from above the Stalkers. For a split second, Artem stares back towards the men holding the flashlights like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. A bullet impacts dangerously close to Artem, glancing the corner of a concrete support inches away from his head. Artem shields his face from the debris as he ducks for cover, just in time to avoid another well-aimed shot. "Bandits! Straight ahead!" Mace shouts, joining Artem behind the concrete support. He sticks his shotgun out from behind cover and blindly fires a few potshots as Artem the Nomad unshoulders his rifle.

"Artem!" Somebody shouts.

Spirit is pinned behind a shipping container to Artems's right. Pistol-caliber rounds spark as they deflect against the corrugated metal frame of the container. Artem's blood pressure rises as he tries to control his breathing, flinging around cover to take aim at the figures moving on the concrete shell of the building ahead of him.

 _Relax._

 _Aim._

 _Exhale._

Artem pulls the trigger. The bandit's head explodes, sending the rest of his body rocking forwards and tumbling off the building towards the grass below. Spirit breaks cover and runs forwards in a poorly timed attempt to close the gap between the Stalkers and the bandits. "No! Go back!" Artem shouts as a nine-millimeter bullet shatters Spirit's kneecap. He falls flat on his face. Artem looks over to see Topol sitting behind a pile of discarded copper pipes and other building materials, holding his helmet in his hands and wearing a blank expression. His rifle sits at his feet.

Mace tackles Artem to the ground as the one of the three remaining bandits chucks an RGO hand grenade, which explodes on impact just on the other side of the Stalker's cover. Artem thanks Mace before picking up his rifle. He looks through the professionally adjusted sight of his old SAFN rifle and fires the rest of his ten-round magazine at the bandits above him as Mace inserts shell after shell into his weapon. Just as Artem begins to reload, he sees the last bandit above him take aim.

As Artem prepares for the inevitable impact, the bandit drops his weapon. The man staggers backwards, placing a hand on his chest. Withdrawing his hand to see a river of red liquid gushing out of the wound which has penetrated his right lung, he gives a foamy laugh through bloody teeth before collapsing. The air once again becomes silent as Artem stands up, feeling dizzy. He looks back, expecting to see Topol finally having chosen to pick up his rifle, but instead another familiar face approaches him.

 _Sokil._

The Doctor who had helped Artem after his encounter with the dogs in the Cordon stands expertly clutching the grip of an AS VAL rifle. "Sokil? What the hell are you doing here?" Artem interrogates.

"We can talk about what I'm doing here or I can patch up your friend's leg before we have to amputate it. The choice is yours."

…..

"Careful, Careful…" Artem directs.

"Topol, do want to help us with the stretcher?" Mace asks.

"Fuck off." Topol responds.

This was the second time that, out of fatigue, Sokil and Mace had nearly dropped the makeshift stretcher carrying Spirit, the injured Stalker. Their trek down the road to Yantar was nearly over, but everyone present was suffering. Spirit had been moaning in constant agony, Artem the Nomad had been pained by a throbbing headache ever since leaving the Wild Territory, and finally, Topol's dismissive and distant behavior had made his companions weary of him. When their destination finally appears in the distance, Artem nearly lets out a tear of joy.

The military complex sitting on the edge of the swampy wetlands at Yantar had once been impassable. For years, nobody who ventured inside of that complex had ever come out the same. Due to illegal experiments once conducted there with a powerful device known as a Kaymanov Emitter, the area was the source of powerful psi-emissions: Waves of energy capable of altering human brain chemistry and changing a person's thought patterns.

Sane, intelligent men who had dared to step through its invisible boundary line had exited as nothing more than gibbering, moaning, and violent shells of their former selves. Stalkers referred to these unfortunate souls as zombies, and they had once infested the entire area. Then, one day, the signal simply stopped. Reports of zombies in Yantar sharply declined, and Stalkers were able to enter and explore the area without fearing the awful fate that had befallen their predecessors.

As the group of dejected Stalkers march through the wetlands to reach the complex, a guttural moan erupts from the waist-high grass near an old Kamaz truck to their left. Artem tightens his grip on the wooden rifle as a section of grass begins to bend against the force of wind, signaling that something is bounding aggressively towards them.

"Something's over there." Spirit signals, pointing to the grass from the stretcher. He draws his sidearm as Mace and Sokil lay the stretcher down to ready their weapons. The rustling noise grows closer. A face wearing an old gas mask pokes out of the thick vegetation.

"It's a snork!" Sokil shouts, opening fire as the creature leaps through the air towards him.

Artem fires two rounds as Sokil takes a step backwards, trips, and falls on his back. The once-human creature lands and tumbles forwards to rest right in front of him, crouched on its hands and knees. It snarls, baring its teeth as it once again prepares to attack.

"I've got it!" Mace yells, pulling the trigger of his shotgun. He continues to advance as the creature's left leg is blasted off, stomping his boot down on the wretched creature's back as it tries to get away. He rests the barrel of his powerful weapon on the back of the creature's head.

 _Bang!_

The only thing that breaks the momentary silence that follows is the gawking of a crow overhead.

"That one was wounded. It could've been alone, but I doubt it. Snorks are pack hunters." Artem advises.

Sokil utters a silent "Thank You" to Mace, who helps him back to his feet.

Topol clears his throat. "Let's just get to the compound." He drones.

…..

There was nothing but a reinforced chain-link fence to stop would-be explorers from entering the complex now that the dangerous psi-emissions were no longer threat. The group stands in front of the old fence in a line, with Spirit's stretcher laid out behind them.

"Well, this is where we lost the mercs." Mace remarks.

"Why didn't you keep following them?" Artem questions.

"Because we lost sight of them. We saw them go into the compound through the gate. They chained it shut and locked it behind them, and then…"

"And then what?"

"They vanished."

Sokil takes his backpack, a western-made, olive-colored ALICE pack, and places it on the ground. He removes a pair of bolt cutters. "Well, let's go look for them." He says before cutting the first of many chain links.

…..

As most of the group is taking shifts between resting and keeping watch under the rising sun, Artem and Sokil take turns working with the old bolt cutters.

Artem hands the tool to Sokil.

"So, do you want to tell me why you're following these mercs?" Sokil asks as he works.

"Sure, if you want to tell me what the hell you were doing in the Wild Territory." Artem retorts.

"You first."

Artem sighs.

"Okay, these mercs have a friend of mine with them. Unwillingly, I mean." He explains as Sokil passes him the rubber-coated bolt cutters.

"Ahh. That's a good reason I suppose." Sokil agrees.

"Your turn." Artem reminds Sokil as he clamps down hard with both hands to remove a stubborn link.

"Honestly?"

"Well I wasn't looking for a _dishonest_ answer, if that's what you mean."

"I was following you." Sokil says.

Artem puts the bolt cutters down.

"That's what I was afraid of. Do want to tell me why?"

Sokil picks the bolt cutters up and continues the work.

"Two reasons. One, I was worried about you, and two, because your buddy Wolf asked me to. He was worried too."

Artem rolls his eyes. "Look, I'm-"

Sokil interrupts forcefully. "I spent six years as a medic with Berkut. The Special Police force, I mean. I worked with lots of tough guys. After a while, though, that job starts to wear on you. Over the years, these tough guys I worked with started having problems. Gambling problems. Drug problems. Woman problems. They had to take their frustrations out somewhere. My partner shot himself in the head. I saw a cop beat a man to death with a baton over nothing. A lot of these guys-people who were sworn to uphold the law-ended up in jail themselves. The worst part was that I saw the same thing happening to myself. So, I left. I came to the zone."

Artem raises an eyebrow. "Why are you telling me this?"

Sokil places the bolt cutters in Artem's lap. Artem picks them up to continue the task ahead of him.

"I'm telling you this because when I met you and saw that look in your eyes, it reminded me of the look my partner gave me before he shot himself. Wolf saw it too. It's the look of somebody loosing themselves."

Artem dismisses Sokil's words with the wave of a hand. "So, Wolf just asked you to come halfway across the zone to find me and you did?"

"No, he paid me to find you. He spent the rest of his money finding a way to get you back out of the zone, and you _will_ come back with me and leave. That's _not_ up for discussion."

"He _what_? That money was supposed to be _his_ ticket out." Shouts Artem, shocked over the actions of his friend. Mace, currently on watch, looks back at Artem to make sure everything is okay before turning back around to face the wetlands.

Sokil shrugs. "You know how Wolf is. I don't think he ever really plans on leaving."

Artem sighs. "Well, I'm sorry but I can't just leave. I have to save my friend first."

Sokil nods in understanding. "I know, that's why we're sitting in a swamp full of bloodthirsty mutants and cutting the links off of a fence to break into a former military research installation where a group of professional mercenaries are hiding."

Artem rolls his eyes _._

"After I'm done, there won't be any more mercenaries."

Sokil grabs his shoulder. "What are you going to do, Artem? Hand them an eviction notice?"

Artem the Nomad chuckles. "Very funny."

"Well, Artem, laughter is the best medicine."


End file.
